Of Stockings and Snowdrifts
by Shadow's Interceptor
Summary: Celebrating the holidays is hard when everything one loves has been taken from them. But at least they have each other. Join Shadow, Relm, and the rest of their companions in celebrating their first Midwinter's Eve since Kefka's ascent to godhood. A companion to "Of Sketchpads and Shadows". Merry Christmas, my friends!


_For those of you who remember, three or four years ago this was posted as a chapter in Sketchpads. But I much prefer it as a standalone story. Here it is, after a long hiatus, my Final Fantasy VI Christmas special. _

_ This story takes place in the Of Sketchpads and Shadows storyline, after chapter 9. _

_ I do not own FFVI or make any money from this fic. I also do not own the poem "'Twas the Night Before Christmas."_

_ And without further ado, I present to you . . ._

**Of Stockings and Snowdrifts**

It was the distinctive red and green candles in the armory window that had first got her attention. Then there was the pathetic collection of evergreen boughs bent into a circle on the door to the pub. A child a few years younger than herself chattering to his mother about how good he had been this year. A chocobo trotting by with little bells tied to its harness. A young man dragging a small pine tree through the snow and into a house.

"Excuse me sir," she said in the sweetest voice she could muster. The weapons dealer peered over the counter at her.

"Are you lost, little girl?" he asked in a concerned tone.

The "little girl" swallowed the nasty retort forming in the back of her throat. "Nope, I'm with them," she jerked her thumb towards the group of adventurers haggling with the dealer's partner over the price of a spear. The weapon dealer's forehead wrinkled in confusion, a little girl in his shop, that was strange enough, but a little girl traveling with a rough and tumble group like that? It was absurd! One of them looked suspiciously like a former Imperial General, another like the rouge king of Figaro! And he was sure that the fellow in the corner was the infamous assassin, Shadow . . . Strange times they lived in, strange times.

"Could you tell me today's date?" she asked him in a sweet, innocent sounding voice.

The weapon dealer replied with a grin, "It's Midwinter's Eve!"

Relm's eyes widened, betraying her surprise. With all those things she had seen, she figured it had to be getting close to the final holiday of the year. But she had no idea it was _this close_. While traveling, their group didn't feel the need to keep track of what date it was. All that really mattered in the scheme of things was the season and the time of day.

"Thanks!" Relm chirped when she regained her composure, "And Happy Midwinter!"

"Happy Midwinter to you too!" the weapon's dealer called after her as she skipped across the shop to join her companions.

As Relm darted by she made sure to swat the pink puff ball on the end of Mog's antenna, causing the indignant moogle to shout a loud "KUPO!" after her while the other's had a bit of a chuckle at their young friend's antics. Ignoring the majority of the group, Relm instead made her way to the shadowy corner at the back of the shop.

"Hi Interceptor, hi Shadow!"

The assassin made no move to acknowledge the girl, other than a brief nod of his head. Interceptor on the other hand jumped up from his place at his boss's feet and practically shoved his head into Relm's stomach. She knew exactly what he wanted and wasted no time in giving his ears a good scratch.

Raising her voice so it could be heard above the thumping Interceptor's tail was making as it hit the floor, Relm said, "So Shadow, do you know what day it is?"

After a brief moment of thought, Shadow replied, "No. Should I?"

"Well I didn't, so I guess I can't blame anyone else for not knowing either," she contemplated making him guess, but the prospect of just telling him was too alluring, "It's Midwinter's Eve!"

The assassin's back stiffened in surprise. _Midwinter? Since when? Did winter really pass so quickly?_

But it was another booming voice that put Shadow's inner turmoil of feelings to words. "You've got to be kidding me! Winter's only just started!"

Relm turned to face the huge mass of muscle that was Sabin. "I'm just repeating what the weapon dealer told me."

Sabin's face split into a huge grin. "Well, I'm not complaining. I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Seems as though we've all lost track of quite a bit of time during this adventure," remarked Sabin's twin, who had come over to join them. Shadow shifted uncomfortably, the dark corner was becoming much too crowded for his tastes.

"Relm, Sabin, Edgar, Shadow, we're leaving now," shouted Celes from the door. Relm happily dashed past the former general into the snow covered streets of South Figaro to spread the surprising news to the rest of their group.

While Cyan, Mog, Setzer, and Celes reacted in similar fashion to the Figaro brothers, Gau looked on in confusion.

"Why Midwinter special?" he asked curiously.

"It's a holiday," Relm answered happily, "a celebration. People put up all kinds of decorations, sometimes they even bring trees into their house and decorate those too! And on Midwinter's Day everyone exchanges gifts and spends time with each other."

Gau still looked as confused as ever, but Relm's infectious good cheer was rubbing off on him; if Relm was so happy about this celebration, it must be good!

"Doesn't Santa Claus deliver gifts to those children who have been good?" Cyan said with a gentle smile. He was slightly shocked when Relm threw her head back and laughed at her statement.

"Cyan, I'm _eleven_. I know Santa Claus is just a story parents tell little kids to make them behave," she scoffed. The tall Doman's face fell and he shook his head sadly, murmuring something about children growing up too fast.

On the way back to the Falcon while Relm happily talked to the others about different Midwinter traditions from their respective parts of the world.

"In Figaro," Edgar began, "we never decorated trees-"

"Kinda hard to find them in the desert," Sabin interjected, "but we always had loads of other decorations around the castle. And the Midwinter feast was to die for!"

Relm snickered, trust Sabin to mention food. "What about you Setzer?" she queried.

The cocky gambler straightened the collar on that atrocious coat of his and answered with a laugh, "I never did anything special. I grew up around Kohligen so I always kept a lot of the same traditions, used lots of evergreen in decorating, wreaths, a tree, holly, mistletoe, that sort of thing. I always had a great deal of fun with mistletoe . . ." his expression suddenly grew thoughtful and his mouth began to form into a devious smirk.

"You even think about it, gambler, and you'll spend the rest of this journey frozen in an ice block," Celes growled.

"Alas, 'twould be a trivial price to pay for a kiss from the beautiful Maria!"

The former general grabbed the collar of Setzer's coat and spun him to face her. "I. Am. Not. Maria," she hissed. Not fazed at all, the silver haired gambler removed her hand from his coat and brushed a bit of imaginary dirt off the spot she had grasped.

"Tragically, that is true," he said with a dramatic sigh, "I'm surprised you know about the tradition of mistletoe, I thought Midwinter wasn't a popular holiday on the Southern Continent."

"It's not," Celes admitted, "but as a general I had to learn all about the customs of the countries I was supposed to conquer. It was supposed to be me who went after Doma, not Leo, so I learned a lot about their traditions."

"So," Relm asked, to no one in particular, "Midwinter is really big in Doma?"

The group, those who were listening to the conversation anyway, all turned to look at the authority on Doman culture, the former retainer to the late Doman King. An expression of mournful longing came across Cyan's face as he thought back to all the Midwinters he had celebrated over the year. The traditional gathering with the king and his court. The whole castle vibrating with the sound of carols. Waking up with Elaine and Owain, spending the morning with them.

"'Tis true," he said, turning his head away from the group so they could not see the tears forming in his eyes, "twas the most anticipated celebration of the year."

When the conversation turned to the Midwinter traditions of moogles, Cyan veered away from the main group towards a pair of dark patches in the snow behind and off to the left. The smaller patch let out a short growl in warning, but the larger patch did nothing to recognize the Doman's presence. Shadow could tell that Cyan was not here for conversation, but rather for silent companionship. The look on the older man's face was enough to tell Shadow that the conversation must have turned to Doma in the group ahead, bringing back all sorts of memories for the tall, depressed warrior.

Quite suddenly, Cyan said, "I miss them." Turning his head towards the tall Doman, Shadow raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"My family," Cyan answered, "I miss being a husband. And a father. I miss being with them. I would give anything, anything, to spend just one more morning with them. Just one . . ."

As the tall Doman's voice dropped away, Shadow slowed his movement to a crawl. A gust of wind blew over the top of a nearby snowdrift, sending the powdery flakes into the narrow open space of his mask, but he did not notice. His thoughts were far away, back to a time long past, a time he had convinced himself he never wanted to think of, never mind repeat, again.

"Would I," he whispered, "would I?"

0 0 0

After pleading, coaxing, groveling, and finally, a bout of inarticulate cursing at the intricate arrangement of pipes and gears which was the heart of his one true love, Setzer concluded one thing: the entire mess of the Falcon's engine was frozen solid. He climbed out from the bowels of the ship, into the light of the Falcon's common room.

"Well everyone," he said to the assembled five person and one moogle crowd, "the crack in the cooling system is fixed, but it must have leaked water all over the blasted engine before we landed, because the whole thing is frozen."

"That should be easy to fix," Sabin said, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. He was rewarded with a vicious glare from the pilot/gambler.

"You even think about using Fira on my Falcon's engines and you'll be sporting fifty two playing card shaped scars on your backside. I'm going to light up that wood stove over there," Setzer motioned to a decrepit wood stove in the corner of the room, "and wait for the heat from that to melt the ice. This girl isn't flying anywhere tonight."

While most of the group groaned, Relm silently shouted with joy. Now maybe, just maybe, she could try and get the rest of them into the holiday spirit. She was sure it would be good for them . . . having some fun was supposed to be therapeutic, right? And Gau, he deserved to have a chance to see what it was all about, celebrating the greatest holiday known to mankind! The fact that Midwinter was her absolute favorite holiday in the world also may have been a tiny, infinitesimally small factor . . .

After Setzer had gotten the wood stove lit, Relm decided to put her plan, Operation Midwinter Spirit, into action.

"Everyone knows about hanging the stockings on Midwinter's Eve, right?" she asked. When everyone, except for Gau of course, affirmed this, she continued, "Why don't we do something like that? Just to be festive. It'll be fun!"

Without waiting for anyone to respond, Relm took her decided upon stocking substitute, her beret, and placed it upside-down in front of the wood stove, so that it formed a kind of floppy bowl. When no one else followed her lead, she turned to face them and indignantly put her hands on her hips. "Come on now, don't be a bunch of Scrooges!"

A chipped wooden bowl, followed by a small dark colored drawstring bag sailed over the heads of the assembled party to land next to Relm's beret.

"The bowl is Interceptor's, the bag is mine," Shadow muttered from the other side of the common room.

The stunned silence that followed Shadow's declaration was broken by a loud braying laugh. "Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Sabin roared, "Shadow, ah-ha-ha, you, you're just, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Oblivious to the nasty death glare the assassin was shooting at him as well as the strange looks of the others, Sabin pulled off one of his metal knuckled gloves and placed it beside the other "stockings," still laughing uproariously. Following his brother's example, Edgar took one of his high sided boots resting by the door and moved it by the wood stove as well. Before long, everyone had contributed something to act as their "stocking." Setzer set down an empty playing card box, Celes, her upturned helmet, Gau a little monster hide pouch that always hung around his neck, Mog the container he used to carry around his magicite, and finally Cyan placed his shield, decorated side down so that it formed a shallow depression, next to the assembled items to complete the line of "stockings."

Relm's grin spread from ear to ear as she surveyed her handiwork. Sure, it wasn't traditional, but at least the _idea_ of it made the place seem more festive. Let everyone else think what they would, _she_ liked it and that was all that mattered.

Covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn, Celes said to the others, "I don't know about you all, but I'm beat. I'm heading off to my room."

"Kupo, I think I'll go to sleep too, before some people," the moogle turned to glare at the Figaro twins and Setzer, "decide to have a midnight drinking contest, followed by a "who can sing Figaro's national anthem the furthest off key" competition. Kupo!"

The Figaro twins shuffled their feet and mumbled apologies, but Setzer shrugged off the moogle's clear reference to one very late night a few weeks ago. It had been a good night; he had won both the drinking contest and the unofficial "who can sing Figaro's national anthem the furthest off key" competition afterwards (if Relm's opinion was to be believed).

"Not to worry Mog," the gambler assured their white fluffy friend, "I think I shall turn in as well. As long as you," he pointed at Sabin, "swear on your life that you won't go near my engines. And you," he pointed at Edgar, "swear on your life that you'll keep him away from my engines!"

The king of Figaro would have put his arm around his brother's shoulders, but even he couldn't reach around the bulging muscles of Sabin's upper body. So he settled for smacking him on the back. "Sabin and I will be too busy discussing other matters to bother with the engines. Or the alcohol."

"We will?" Sabin said incredulously.

"Yes, we will," he told his confused twin, taking his arm and dragging him towards the room that they shared.

With the threat to his precious engines eliminated, Setzer retired to the captain's quarters without worry. Of course, not before inviting Celes to join him. He only just managed to make it through the door and slam it shut before a Thundara smashed into the thick wood, leaving a massive scorch mark on the formerly flawless oak. The still fuming former general returned to her own room, as did the chuckling moogle, leaving Relm, Gau, Cyan, Interceptor, and Shadow scattered about the Falcon's common room.

"Hmph. Party poopers," Relm grumbled. With a fond look at the assembled "stockings" she bounced over to the couch and grabbed hold of one end. Shoving her shoulder against it, she tried to push it closer to the warmth radiating from the stove. Despite her efforts, the heavy piece of furniture did not move. Not until Gau joined in pushing on her end and Cyan grabbed the other end and pulled. Between the three of them, they were able to move the couch so that it fell in the square of dull orange light cast by the fire through the door of the stove.

The couch in place, Relm hopped onto one of the middle cushions and Gau jumped onto the other one. "Shadow, Interceptor, Cyan, there's room for you guys too," Relm said. Without hesitation, the assassin's big black and brown dog made a soaring leap from across the room to land between the two youths, nearly bouncing them off the couch. With a laugh, Relm threw her arms around the big animal and ruffled his fur. Interceptor happily licked her face, causing Relm to squeal and yell for Gau to hold the enthusiastic dog back.

From the corner, Shadow scowled at his attack dog's behavior. It was bad enough that Interceptor acted like this when he and Relm were alone, but when they were with the others . . . And now, now, instead of snapping at the feral boy that was tugging him away from the giggling artist, the bloody dog was licking his face too! It must be because the boy was Relm's friend. That stupid mutt would do anything for her. Just like that same stupid mutt would do anything for him.

Cyan chose to follow Interceptor's example and accept Relm's invitation to sit. He lowered himself onto the couch on the other side of Gau, taking care not to come too close to the big black dog still attacking the young man's face with his tongue. Interceptor had not taken a liking to him as he had to Gau and would still growl and threaten to bite unless called off by either his boss . . . or his girl.

"Come on Shadow, sit with us," Relm pleaded. The silent assassin declined, instead moving to stand closer to the stove, and as a result, the couch nearby it. Figuring this was as good a response as she was going to get, Relm let it slide. Just this once, she wouldn't argue. As her grandpa always said, "Midwinter is a time for peace and happiness, not petty arguments or squabbles."

Although she wasn't entirely positive that saying wasn't just his way to get one night of peace and quiet a year.

Thinking of her grandpa, Relm was reminded of another long standing Midwinter tradition in her household. Looking at the others, mainly Cyan and Shadow, she asked, "Have any of you heard of the poem, _The Night Before Midwinter_?"

"I cannot say that I have," Cyan replied, "I did not know thou was interested in poetry."

Relm snorted in amusement, "I'm not. But this poem is special. Grandpa read it to me every Midwinter's Eve, for as long as I can remember."

Shadow shuffled uncomfortably in the darkness; he knew that the subject of Strago was a touchy one for the young artist and, as much as he hated to admit it, seeing her upset really tore him apart. But tonight she seemed to be alright, talking about him without even a trace of sadness. He only hoped it would last . . .

"I can't believe you haven't heard of it!" Relm told the tall Doman, "It's _the_ Midwinter poem! You're sure you never heard it?"

Cyan smiled at his excitable little friend, "Quite sure I have not heard a poem by that name. Perhaps thou wouldst like to recite it for us?"

That wasn't a bad idea. No, not a bad idea at all! Not only would it expose two, maybe three, very deprived souls to a masterpiece of Midwinter literary art, but it would be carrying on her grandfather's tradition too!

"Alright, I will!" Relm said with a smile. She settled herself down and began.

"'Twas the night before Midwinter, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nickolas soon would be there."

"Me like this poem," Gau yelped, "words sound nice."

"The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads. And Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winters nap."

Cyan leaned back into the couch with a contented sigh; he was thoroughly enjoying the poem. Yes, it was nothing like the great Doman epics or the timeless sonnets he was used to, but it did, as Gau put it, sound very nice. It was . . . sweet. It reminded him of the good times, and the good feelings those times brought.

"Then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter! Ah, um, To the. No, um, I threw open, no that wasn't it. Something, something threw open the shutters . . . what was it," Relm stuttered and fumbled over the line, desperately trying to remember. She could see he grandpa reading the story, could see him mouthing the next line, but she couldn't remember what it was!

Tears of frustration began to form in the corners of her eyes as she wracked her memory for the words of the next line. Why couldn't she remember!

"Relm, thou dost not have to finish it if thou dost not remember," Cyan said gently. Gau backed him up with a soft "Uwaoo."

The young artist swiped a hand across her eyes and glared at the two of them, "NO! You don't get it, I HAVE to finish it! To the window I ran, no, eight tiny, no, no, no!"

A gruff growling voice tore from the shadows, cutting through Relm's half spoken, half sobbed attempts.

"Away to the window I flew like a flash."

"Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash!" Relm responded joyfully.

Gau, and Cyan stared in disbelief as Shadow emerged from the darkness, supplying the next line of the poem.

"The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow."

"Gave a luster of midday to objects below," Relm supplied.

Shadow cocked his head and added a questioning tone to his voice, "When what to my wondering eyes should appear?"

"But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer!" Relm practically shouted.

The slight wrinkling around the assassin's eyes convinced Cyan that behind the ever present mask was a widening smile.

"With a little old driver so lively and quick,"

"I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!"

"More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,"

"And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:"

Shadow surprised the Doman and feral youth again when his voice rose to a mild shout, "Now Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!"

Relm's voice matched the dark assassin's, "On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!"

"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!"

"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" Relm's cried excitedly.

The assassin's voice dropped to a normal volume, but he continued to add in more feeling to the words than any of them had ever heard him use, "As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,"

"When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky!"

"So up to the housetop the coursers they flew,"

"With the sleight full of toys, and St. Nicholas too," Relm giggled.

"And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof," Shadow twisted his head to the side, as if he was indeed hearing something on the roof.

"The prancing and pawing of each little hoof."

"As I drew in my head and was turning around,"

"Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound!" Relm cried, actually jumping off the couch for effect.

Shadow's black clad shoulders shook with . . . _laughter?_ "He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,"

"And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot."

"A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,"

"And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack."

"His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!"

"His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!"

"His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,"

"And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow!"

"The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth," Shadow tapped the area of his mask where a pipe may have been.

"And the smoke, it encircle his head like a wreath;"

"He had a broad face and a little round belly"

"That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!"

"He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,"

"And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!" Relm's eyes were indeed full of laughter, not a trace of the tears remained.

"A wink of his eye," Shadow gave a jaunty wink, "And a twist of his head," followed by a similarly jaunty head twist.

"Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread," Relm squeezed out between her giggles.

"He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,"

"And filled all the stockings," Relm skipped past the row of stockings, "then turned with a jerk," spinning about when she reached the end of the line.

"And laying his finger aside of his nose," once more Shadow demonstrated the actions described in the poem, taking one gloved finger and laying beside where his nose was hidden behind his mask.

"And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!"

"He sprang to his sleight, to his team gave a whistle,"

"And away they all flew like the down of a thistle."

"But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,"

"Happy Midwinter to all and to all a good night!" Shadow and Relm exclaimed together.

In the silence that followed, Shadow was able to reflect on what he had just done. _Well, now that you've gone and made a big fool of yourself, Clyde, what are you going to do?_

I am not Clyde. My name is Shadow.

_Better damn well save some face quickly. No assassin recites poetry with an eleven year old girl, even if she is-_

Upset! She was upset and I couldn't see her cry again. Not over him. Not while I'm here.

_But they don't know that. Probably a good thing, then they might learn your secret._

Shadow has no secrets. Not that kind anyhow.

_ That you care for the girl. It's a secret you keep even from yourself._

Before Shadow could repute this inner voice, the sound of clapping distracted him. Cyan and Gau, recovered from their shock, were putting their hands together applauding their performance.

"Bravo! And brava!" Cyan told the two, "a performance worthy of the stage!" Relm blushed and giggled in her embarrassment while Shadow looked down and muttered something ineligible.

"Me like it lots!" Gau yelped, "You know more Midwinter stuff?"

After a thoughtful pause, Relm replied, "Well, there are all kinds of Midwinter stories . . . Cyan, do you know some?"

A true smile graced the tall Doman's face for the first time in what must have been months. "Indeed I do Miss Relm. I do not know how I can follow a performance like that, but why don't thou and Shadow take a seat and I'll tell the story of how Santa Clause came to be."

Squeaking happily, Relm dashed over to the couch once more. More hesitantly, the dark assassin followed. When they were both seated, Cyan began the well known, and well loved tale. The two young people hung onto his every word, for Gau it was his first time hearing it, for Relm it was a tale she had heard many times, but never got tired of. Even if she professed not to believe. Even Shadow listened curiously, he had not heard the story in some time and Cyan was telling it rather well.

When Cyan had finished that story, Gau and Relm clamored for another. So he started telling a story that originated in Doma, about the elves first came to work for Santa Clause. About halfway through his telling, the tall Doman noticed that the only one still listening to him was Interceptor. The other three were fast asleep; Shadow's head drooped down so that his chin rested on his chest, Relm was curled up resting her head on the assassin's shoulder, and Gau had his head pillowed on the hindquarters of the large black dog lying with almost his entire upper body in Shadow's lap.

A soft chuckle escaped Cyan's lips, the first one in months, almost a year now. Pushing himself off the couch, he slowly made his way towards his room on the other side of the ship. He was not sure exactly what had transpired between the assassin and the young artist tonight. But in the deep recesses of his mind and, more importantly, in the depths of his heart, he felt that it was the start of something that they both needed. Something that would heal their wounded souls in a way that nothing and no one else could.

To him, that was the best gift of all.

0 0 0

_Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!_


End file.
